and now she wants a taxi...

a diary of my mother's stubborn resistance to accept help

Photo by Fotis Fotopoulos on Unsplash

12 April 2025:

Ellen (my mother) woke up and told the staff at Assisted Living that today she was moving home. She called and texted her friends requesting boxes. Everyone alerted me.

Ellen does not take my calls.

The staff told me that she requested a cab. What she doesn’t realize is that her home is empty of her things. Her home is swarming with painters, carpet layers, gardeners, plumbers, building and pest inspectors, our realtor, and a handy man.

I went F&F (frantic and frenetic). Her friend and I hatched a plan that she would go visit, without boxes, and if she had a moment she would try to purloin my mother’s debit card so Ellen could not call a cab. Dear Reader, the caper was not a success!

…

A debit card for Ellen was a complicated decision. I tried to get her a teenage-style card, the kind the bank preloads with limited cash because, well, dementia, and I worry about her spending. Nearly every dollar in her account is necessary for fixing up her place and paying the fees at her Assisted Living. Her credit union didn’t offer such a card. The only choice was a limit of 300 per day withdrawal from a cash machine. Part of me loves the idea of Ellen going rogue, a Thelma w/o a Louise, on her own, withdrawing cash, recklessly taxiing toward the Mexican border. And, I also don’t want her returning to her house to be thoroughly confused and cause havoc.

Leaving her without access to cash felt so infantilizing. So I screwed up. I got her the card and now, in another state, I realized it was a mistake which required yet another hour on the phone. Multiple attempts to get Ellen to answer my call. On hold at the bank, until finally I cancelled her card and there she is with zero access to cash. It feels necessary and very cruddy.

…

And then, a week later, I received another update.

Would it be the worst thing if she hailed a cab and somehow made it to her home? She’d be shocked and disoriented. Perhaps a realtor showing the house would call the police and a social worker would arrive too? All I know is I need some help.